


Snapshot

by Song



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 12:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Song/pseuds/Song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harold falls, John helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snapshot

**Author's Note:**

> This was part of a larger fic, but that's not going anywhere so I'm left with a snippet which I decided to share. Written waaay back in the first half of season one.

John comes in looking almost frantic- or at least, that's what he thinks. His movement is choppier than the usual well toned dance-like grace he's come to associate with the ex-operative. It is not enough to tip anyone off that something was wrong.

He tries again to rise from the floor just as a spasm stabs at the old injury and the world turns gray.

When he next awoke (he could not have been out for more than a few seconds) Reese is sitting by him, gently cradling his head and neck from the cold tile floor.

He smiled- a strange look on his face but not an unwelcome one. "Are you ready, Mr. Finch?"

Unable to bring himself to vocalize Harold nods, gritting his teeth and waiting for the inevitable pain.

It does not come.

Strong arms wrap around his torso, gently heaving him from the floor. Most of his weight is supported by the other man. As they stand, Finch feels Reese take his arm and place it over his shoulder (which is several inches above his own) and grabbing his hand to steady it while simultaneously wrapping his other arm around the his chest.

Finch exhales slowly, willing the cramped muscles to release their hold on his mobility.

Mr. Reese nods to the woman managing, acting as a human crutch as they slowly make their way from the store to the idling car.

Reese opens the door and helps his employer into the leather interior. If he had been in less pain he would have protested being lifted into the vehicle. Finch releases a breath he had not known he had held as he settles into the soft chair.

Closing his eyes he begins the mental exercises he had learned to deal with the painful nerve damage. A hand makes its way into his pocket, taking out a prescription. He did not like relying on meds as they made his thinking fuzzy, but it was unavoidable when the pain was clouding his vision and thought process more than the drug ever would. Taking out two of the tablets he drops them onto the back of his tong and swallows them dry. Now it is only a waiting game for the pain to lessen to a more tolerable level.

The car comes to a stop as Reese parks in front of one of many safe houses. His partner stands, circling the car and opening the passenger's side door helping him out once again. They resume an all too familiar position, limping up the few steps and into their reprieve. John turns from away from the monitoring center, moving towards the bedroom off to the side.

He does not let his pain show until they are alone.

John deposits Harold on the bed, unbuttoning the suit jacket and disentangling him from it's confining cotton clutches. Next are the shoes, tie, and then dress shirt; all removed in equally gentle touches that one would not expect of a trained killer. The mattress dips down as he sits, strong arms finding their way around the smaller man. Hands adept at so many things find the knots in his neck, shoulders and back, kneading them into submission.

He knows that no matter what happens in the future, taking John on was one of the best decisions he has ever made.

* * *

 

**Fin**


End file.
